The sun is a forerunner of itself.
Picture a black road very early,
Desert mountains to the east,
No trees. As the sun rises,
Blacking then blazoning
The dry slopes, it also
Walks the road to you.
 
Truth like a canopy shelters truth,
Illusions of combat among the greenflies.
There is no sky. There is only the sun
And the sun’s sharp progress
Through the God-forsaken, which is sunlight too.
I hear voices underneath the road.
Whichever way I go was once an ocean.